


a maiden in need of defending

by scandalous



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Era, Crossdressing, Dom Alexander Hamilton, Genderplay, Hand Jobs, M/M, Period-Typical Sexism, Power Dynamics, a little dry humping, hinted at praise kink, self indulgence: the fic, sub george washington
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:30:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalous/pseuds/scandalous
Summary: Washington agrees to wear one of Eliza's dresses for Alexander.





	a maiden in need of defending

**Author's Note:**

> ive... got no excuses for this. this is me indulging myself, this is me having fun, and i love it. sub!george needs to be a thing and if you all won't make it a thing then I Will.
> 
> fills the 'power dynamics' square in my trope bingo card, and the 'genderplay' square in my seasonofkink card.
> 
> enjoy!

Washington is too big of a man to fit easily into anything in Eliza’s wardrobe, but Alexander wants him to, so he obliges. Alexander loves how he has the President of their new nation wrapped around his finger — how much Washington loves to indulge him. Eliza is at her sister Peggy’s place, doing something or the other, so they won’t be interrupted.

Alexander pulls down his breeches as he waits for Washington to come out of the bedroom. He strokes himself idly, the mere thought of finally seeing President Washington dressed in a woman’s garments making something deep inside him stir. He’s had this thought for a while — of course he has. Ever since Washington grumbled  _ I am not a maiden in need of defending, _ he’s been stuck at the thought.

After a few torturous minutes, Washington comes out of the bedroom. His face is flushed dark with embarrassment, but Alexander can see his cock twitching underneath the garment. And the garment, oh —

It’s a white cotton dress, French in origin,  _ robe en chemise _ . The sleeves get to Washington’s elbows; the dress should usually go down past the knees, halfway down to the ankles. But Washington’s height and size makes it get to the knees, and even that seems pushing it. He looks splendid, looks like an all too tall, all too broad woman.  _ Lady Washington _ , Alexander thinks, and his lips curl into an easy smile, eyes blown wide with arousal.

He walks towards Washington and leans up to cup his cheek.

“How do I look, Alexander?” he asks, looking down at him.

“You look incredible.” He kisses him hungrily and messily. When he pulls away, he hesitates before saying, “You look incredible, lady Washington.”   


Washington grunts at that, his face twisted in both arousal and distaste. “Alexander…” he starts, voice low and sharp and so masculine it just pushes the dissonance deeper in.

“Yes?” he says, kissing him again. He traces his thumb over Washington’s cheekbone, savoring every dip and feel of Washington’s skin. Fuck, the man is so dashing, so terribly handsome, and he has him at his mercy.

Washington takes a breath and looks away. He asks, “What do you want me to do?”

He has him at his mercy, and he’s dressed in a white cotton dress, and Alexander is so damned. He walks into the bedroom, Washington following in, and locks the door behind him.

Alexander studies Washington’s face; studies Washington’s cock twitching beneath the dress.

“I want you to get on your knees,” he tells him. Washington raises a brow, formulates a retort. Alexander interrupts him before he even starts to speak — “Submit to me. I know I’m not the first person to have the privilege of seeing mighty George Washington on his knees.”

Washington takes another breath, brows furrowed, and slides down to his knees. The dress falls along him, touching the floor, hiding Washington’s erection. He sits back on the heels of his feet and looks up at Alexander in silence, only slightly biting his lip.

“Good,” Alexander remarks. “Very good.”

Washington’s brows stop furrowing, as if the praise makes him relax. 

Alexander heads to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. He takes off his shoes and slides his breeches down and off. “Come here,” he orders. Washington obliges, settling in between Alexander’s legs. “I think you know what to do, Mr. President.”   


Washington draws in a breath, a red flush settling on his cheeks. “Alexander…”

“Come on, Mr. President,” Alexander says, spreading his legs further apart, his cock red and standing out. “We don’t have all day now, do we?”

Washington gulps and leans closer to Alexander’s length. He hesitates before licking a stripe from the balls to the tip; Alexander moans and tips his head back, digging his nails into his own thighs. Washington takes the head in his mouth, being slow and precise with his movements. Alexander wonders, even if for just a second, how many times has he done something like this before — how many times men have seen George Washington on his knees, just for them.

Washington starts bobbing his head, looking up at him as he does so. He takes more of him into his mouth, all too slowly, all too teasing. He drags his tongue across the underside and Alexander moans, hips stuttering up. He tries to keep his facade of indifference on, but Washington is  _ good  _ with his mouth, and it feels like the older man is pulling him apart with every movement of his tongue.

He puts a hand on the back of Washington’s head, guiding him even if only a little. He takes more of him in, always careful, always looking up at him and searching for a reaction, for approval. It’s kind of the same Alexander does when he’s on his knees for Washington, and it’s a little ridiculous — how similar Washington’s submission is to his own.

“Good,” he groans when Washington sucks on the head, his eyes fluttering shut. “Very good, fucking hell…”

Washington takes more, his throat relaxing around Alexander. And his hips roll up, and he  _ chokes  _ — the sound of Washington choking around his cock makes Alexander feel like he’s on cloud nine. He keeps shallowly rolling his hips up, making him choke and gag. He never lets up, never asks for a break or a breath — it’s like he’s determined to make Alexander cum with no stops, no breathers.

And he does, eventually — eventually Alexander is gasping for air, hands over his own knees as Washington takes him in, sucks him off so good he thinks he’ll die. His hips roll up, Washington makes a beautiful choked out noise and he climaxes down the President’s throat.

“Amazing,” he breathes, “So good for me.” 

Washington pulls off his cock, a bit of Alexander’s seed running down his chin. His lips are red and his eyes are lidded — he looks wrecked, and Alexander can only think that he caused the President to look like this, to look like such a mess.

He gets off the bed and beckons Washington up — he obliges without hesitation. It makes him grin wide and toothy, how easily Washington submits, how easily the President of their brand new nation falls to the command of a man twenty years younger than him, a man who’s usually underneath him. 

Alexander kisses him, languid and slow and passionate, Washington coming undone against him. He holds onto Alexander’s shoulders, small compared to his, and grunts against his lips. 

Washington leans closer to him, still kissing him, and starts rocking his hips against Alexander’s crotch. He’s still wearing the white dress, the  _ robe en chemise _ , all small and not so puffy as other dresses. He grinds up against him, desperate and yet so quiet, and Alexander grabs his chin, forces him to look down.

“What are you doing?” he asks. Washington’s eyes are blown wide with arousal.

Washington hesitates, even if for just a second. “Bringing myself pleasure,” he says.

“Did I give you permission to do that?”

He scowls, stops moving his hips, and says, “I don’t  _ need  _ your —”

“Yes you do,” he interrupts. Washington’s brows knit together. “You’re at my mercy right now, Mr. President. You’re wearing a dress, you sucked me off, you have willingly taken the role of a woman.” His voice borders on mocking. “And women obey, don’t they?”   


Washington draws in a breath. “Yes, they do.”   
  
“Then obey. Then ask for permission. It’s not so difficult, lady Washington.”   


It’s taunting and mocking, and Washington makes a noise. It’s a mix of a groan and a moan, and Alexander eats it up, smiling at him smugly. 

“Can I bring myself pleasure? Can  _ you  _ bring me pleasure?”   
  
“I think you forgot my title there,” he tells him, eyes gleaming with lust. Washington sucks in a breath. “I think I’m the one that should be called  _ sir  _ right now, aren’t I?”   
  
Washington grits his teeth, if only a little. Alexander is frustrating — he knows he’s frustrating, and he shouldn’t be the one in power right here, right now. But he  _ is _ , so he drinks it up, so he uses it to the best of his ability.  He lets Washington fall apart under him.

“Come on. Say it, lady Washington.”   


“Sir,” he says — he  _ breathes _ , more like, with how airy it is. “Sir.”

Alexander is a little power drunk with hearing Washington call him sir, in all honesty. But he keeps his indifferent facade — smiles, only a little bit. “Good. Very good.”

“Thank you, sir,” Washington says, bowing his head and averting his eyes from him. Alexander wonders when is the last time Washington called someone sir, had been at someone’s mercy like this — was it when he caused a war, before Alexander was even in the picture? Was it when he was only a soldier more? He wouldn’t know, and he doesn’t know. But he has Washington under his mercy now, and that’s all that matters.

“I’m going to bring you pleasure,” Alexander says, voice thick as he lifts the skirt of Washington’s dress up. “And you’re going to thank me for giving you the privilege of release afterward. Understood?”   
  
“Yes, sir.”   


Alexander kisses him, gets a little drunk on the aftertaste of his cum on Washington’s lips. “Good.” Washington glows at the praise, and Alexander sneaks a hand around his length. He starts stroking, all too slowly, all too careful for it to be pleasurable.

He keeps his motions slow, rubbing the head with his thumb, playing with the foreskin absentmindedly. When Washington seems on the verge of begging, when the dress is over Alexander’s hand and he’s just so desperate for relief, he speeds up.

He speeds up harshly and Washington moans, an exquisite noise that makes Alexander groan and kiss him, pulling him impossibly closer. Chest-to-chest, and his hips rock against Washington’s crotch as he strokes his length hard and fast.

“Come on, lady Washington,” Alexander says, kissing him again and again, until they’re both gasping for air. “Release, let yourself go.”   


Washington does; he's left breathless as he slumps against Alexander, spilling white all over Alexander’s hand. He watches, almost in a trance, as Washington steps back and takes a deep breath, his body still twitching through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Alexander brings his hand up to taste Washington’s cum. It’s not like he hasn’t tasted it before, but he never gets tired of it. He licks his own hand clean before letting it rest at his side.

Washington leans against the wall, still breathing heavily, the seams of the dress threatening to rip. He gets out of it with a bit of difficulty, Alexander helping him, giving him a lovestruck grin and a curious look as he does so.

“Did you enjoy that, sir?” Alexander asks, his lips curling into a glowing grin.

Washington laughs a little at with how much ease Alexander slips back into being Washington’s secretary, Washington’s right-hand man. “Of course I did, Alexander. It was amazing.” He pulls him into a kiss, and then another, until they’re both breathless and looking at each other with wide, loving gazes.

“I’m glad that’s the case, sir,” he replies, putting a bit of emphasis on  _ sir _ . Like he’s reminding himself that Washington  _ is  _ his superior, after all, no matter what happens in their sexual escapades. “You didn’t take as long to submit as I thought you would.”   


Washington chuckles and leans down to get the clothes he came to the Hamilton house with. He puts them on, a sigh of relief escaping his mouth at having perfectly fitting clothes back on. “Not the first time I’ve done that, Alexander.”   


Alexander’s eyes twinkle a little. “You have got to tell me about your past submission, then, sir.”   
  
“Maybe one day,” Washington replies, tucking a stray hair behind Alexander’s ear. He leans down to kiss him.    
  


“Maybe one day,” he echoes, smiling wide. He’s practically glowing, and Washington is glowing in the afterglow too, a soft smile on his lips.

Washington kisses his forehead, tangles his fingers in his hair before pulling away altogether. Alexander can’t help but pout a little as Washington puts his coat on — Eliza will come back, and maybe she’ll notice his changed demeanor, maybe she won’t. She’d never guess it was Washington, though; Washington is married, just like Alexander. Washington would never commit such a crime.

“See you soon, sir,” Alexander tells him, tilting his head.

Washington gives him a nod of his head, a smile, before dropping it. Before going back to his look of control, of dominance that usually makes Alexander weak at the knees. He’s glad he got to shift their dynamic around, give it a spin, watch Washington on his knees for him.

“See you soon, Alexander.”   


Alexander slumps back onto the bed and hears the front door close from afar. He lets out a sigh, relaxes and lets himself drink in the memories of all his escapades with President George Washington. 


End file.
